


Not the fashion police

by Ruler_of_Nope_Island



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Harry's terrible fashion sense, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24139639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruler_of_Nope_Island/pseuds/Ruler_of_Nope_Island
Summary: Harry's satorial dysfunction reaches crisis point.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 97





	Not the fashion police

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this reddit thread: https://www.reddit.com/r/DiscoElysium/comments/drj85c/how_did_you_guys_dress_up_your_detective/

Station 41 has a new motto, courtesy of Lieutenant Kitsuragi. It’s been floated in staff meetings that perhaps they should engrave it over the door. 

Du Bois problems require Du Bois solutions.

On the one hand, you could take it as a testament to Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Du Bois’s skill as a detective: if there is a strange, unsolvable, or politically difficult case, you remember how THE HANGED MAN went down and send in Du Bois. On the other - and by far its more common usage - if Harry Du Bois is causing you problems, ask yourself what the most bizarre solution to this problem is, and then apply it. It works, although his mental dice sometimes roll unusually well. 

Patrol Officer Minot got him to stop wearing the blue silk robe to interview subjects by locking him in a cupboard and playing SPEEDFREAKS FM on the tannoy for twenty minutes. Lieutenant Kitsuragi objected strenuously, mentioning that he couldn’t play it now without Harry having some sort of panic attack. 

“Oh, he’s Harry now?” Satellite-Officer Vicquemare asked, leading to the tensest eyebrow raising standoff the Major Crime Unit had ever seen. Lieutenant Kitsuragi won by a hair. It was a water-dispenser topic for weeks. 

The silk robe was only the beginning of a much larger Du Bois Problem. It had always been there - the horrific necktie, an early symptom of a serious illness - but now. Now. 

Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Du Bois turns up wearing dirty jeans (he found them in a furnace), polished back boots (on the docks) mesh singlet (in an abandoned basement) his disco blazer (a clothing shop beyond the knowledge of man) and a scarf. Minot manages to convince him to wear his Commander’s Jacket instead, but the mesh singlet underneath creates a rather singular effect.

Lieutenant Kitsuragi’s glasses fog over as soon as he sees the new outfit. No one is willing to comment, as to comment would cause an eyebrow raise, and no one wants to be on the wrong side of that. 

“It could be worse,” Kitsuragi says, when Harry leaves for the restroom. “He has a leather jacket with Pissf****t on the back.”

Vicquemare almost falls off his chair.

“He shook down a juvenile delinquent for it,” Kitsuragi continues, apparently oblivious, “He wanted me to wear the other one.”

“Did you?” Minot asks.  
“Of course not. I am not a Fuck The World sort of man.” His mouth twitches. “I do look good in leather jackets. Just not at work.”

Leather jackets are usually worn by wannabe gang members and - well. In the old days it was down in the Penal Code as “Unpatriotic Congress.” Harry, after a previous bender, had loudly speculated that if two soldiers were, ahem, it was in fact quite patriotic. Perhaps that was another sign of something else, although Vicquemare spent a great deal of mental effort not thinking about that. Then Jules calls Du Bois “Daddy” and all bets are off. 

The MCU was in two minds about how to deal with this latest Du Bois problem. The first was to ignore it, although it was very hard to argue for his apparent sobriety when he dressed like he got his clothing out of garbage bins. The second, as floated by Minot, was that they all dress like him and hopefully embarrass him out of it. 

“I don’t think he’s capable of being embarrassed,” Kitsuragi points out. “And my wardrobe isn’t as...comprehensive.”

“You could take your glasses off and walk into a Miss Kitty,” Maclaine suggests. “And then a military surplus supplier.”

“Miss Kitty-?”

“Hooker-chic for the under 18s,” Torson says. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it.”

The silence that follows could ice up the windows.

“-what with you working in Juvie for so long.”

“Those days are behind me now,” Kim replies, shortly. “Harry is taking a very long time in the restroom. I’ll go and see if he’s having trouble with the lock.”

“Again?”

“It usually takes him a couple of tries to work out very difficult objects.”

“Do you want to borrow my prybar?” 

The MCU fails to think of any good solution. 

But Revachol provides. 

It’s not until after THE CASE OF THE BLOOD SPLATTERED ATELIER that the MCU begin to notice that the suspects and interviewees - especially the younger ones - are starting to dress strangely. The number of silk robe - track pant - high boot outfits skyrockets. As does the amount of young men with mutton chops. The young women have taken to filling out their eye sockets with dark brown eyeshadow and smearing their lipstick. Communard-era fur caps make an unlikely return, even though it’s spring. The sunglasses defy description. 

Vicquemare looks out the window one day to a sea of Harry Du Bois clones and asks if he’s having some sort of seizure. More investigation is required, so Torson acquires a fashion magazine and the MCU discover that “hobocop chic” is The Look for ‘52. 

“We have to kill him,” Jules says. “We have a duty to Revachol to stop this at its source.”

“It’s spread too fucking far now,” Vicquemare mutters. “We’re surrounded.”

“Khm,” Kim says. “We’ll see.”

They never did see why or how it stopped, but next week Harry walked in wearing a knitted sweater and charcoal pants so bland and inoffensive it put everyone’s teeth on edge. 

“He just looks bad in everything,” Torson says. “It’s like a strange, shitty superpower.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Vicquemare groans. “He’ll start walking around naked.”

“When we were in Martinaise he’d strip down in the middle of the street,” Kim murmurs. “In front of suspects, even.”

A group decision is made.

“Hey, Du Bois,” Torson says. He drew the short straw. “What’s with the pants?”

“I was told my clothing wasn’t appropriate.” Harry seems deflated. “I thought I’d pick up some new stuff.”

“It’s awful,” says Minot. “Your trousers look like the sartorial equivalent of clinical depression.”

“It makes me miss the disco pants,” Maclaine pipes up. “Where’s that awful tie of yours?”

“I used it to kill a man,” Harry replies, “I still hear him screaming in my dreams.”

“Uh-”

Harry looks at the floor. Kim strides over and takes him by the arm. 

“Time to get lunch,” he says, and drags Harry out the door.  
“I think that could have gone better,” Minot says. 

The next day Harry is much brighter. He has a new scarf; bright red with roosters and florals. It somehow makes the outfit much more bearable. There’s also a vile orange knitted hat. The MCU relaxes; finally, a happy medium. 

“Did you take him shopping?” Minot asks Kim, later. 

“No, those are Martainese era,” he replies, stirring his tea. “Just washed.”

“I’m surprised he can use a washing machine.”

“I introduced him to the joys of clean sheets.”

Minot chokes on her coffee.

The day finishes without much more sartorial disruption. 

*

Harry’s bedroom is strewn with clothes. Kim surveys the mess from the door. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says. “I let myself in.”

Harry grunts, halfway through pulling an ancient t-shirt over his head. It’s a little too small, and judging by the logo, a relic from his gym teacher days. 

“I’m sorting,” he says, “Just to make sure -”

“I understand,” Kim says, “You don’t need to give Jean another migraine.”

“All those kids,” Harry says. “Wanting to look like me.”

“A mystery for the ages.”

Harry launches into an in depth analysis of Revachol fashion. Kim marvels that a man who had such complete theoretical knowledge manages to still dress like he’d picked his clothes off the floor after someone else’s bender. A younger, fitter, someone. 

Kim sits against the headboard and lights his cigarette. Harry goes through a variety of outfits, and manages to look absolutely awful in all of them.


End file.
